The Odd Couple
by rowena-dawson
Summary: Boarding School AU, The unlikely duo of John Watson and Sherlock Holmes become roommates of 221B Baker Hall at St. Bart's School and nothing is ever the same.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: This is my first Sherlock fanfic, although I have done a lot of Criminal Minds fanfic on LiveJournal. (The link is on my profile if interested.) Comments and feedback appreciated. Thanks! -Rowena

* * *

><p>Chapter 1<p>

Although John Watson didn't want to admit it, he was ready to go back to St. Bartholomew's School. Because he spent most of his time there, just about 9 months out of 12, the boarding school was literally a second home.

There was a banging noise downstairs and yelling noises. He wished he could ignore it, especially his mother's voice pleading for his father to think of John and to stop making so much noise or they would wake him up.

Some good _**that**_ did, Mom.

John slammed his door shut out of anger and started throwing every piece of clothing he owned into a suitcase. Tomorrow wouldn't come soon enough.

* * *

><p>"Bye Johnny, be good now."<p>

"Thanks Mom."

He couldn't help but look directly at the faint bruise on her face that couldn't be completely covered by make-up. By the pained look on his mother's face, he could tell that she was very much aware that he was doing this. His fists clenched once, twice, and then relaxed. It was no use getting angry. He had been here before; nothing would come of it.

His father grunted at him and nodded his head at him. He never did say much.

"We'll see you for holiday break," his mother called out and the car drove away, leaving him alone for the first time in several months. Alone, he was able to sigh and felt a weight lift.

"Hey Watson!"

John turned to see his rugby teammate and friend Tom Reed running towards him already dressed in a St. Bart's rugby uniform of gold and maroon.

"Hey Reed."

"You going out to the pitch to practice?" Tom asked. "Most of the boys look like they've been slacking over summer holiday."

"Yeah, I'll be out later," John answered, shouldering one of his bags. "I have to unpack yet."

"Okay mate. Cheers."

It was one of John's real passions: rugby. It was a downright physical game, but there was a definite art to it. You had to be muscular and fit to be able to sprint down the pitch, but you had to be athletic enough to be able to avoid other players and being run over.

He double-checked his room assignment, Room 221B in Baker Hall. He had never lived in that particular hall before, but he had heard it had larger rooms then Smith Hall, which is where he had lived before. They also got their own showers per room and, because John was on the sports team, they accommodated him by putting him in that hall.

As soon as he walked into the room, he realized that it wasn't exactly a bigger room. It was relatively small, with the usual two twin beds, two closets, two drawers, two writing desks on both sides and two identical picture windows. There was a personal bathroom, as he had been promised; however, it could barely fit one person.

John groaned. St. Bart's was cheap; he should have seen this one coming. He was surprised he even had his own restroom.

His roommate hadn't arrived yet, which wasn't really odd, considering class would begin in two days. He had just come earlier because, well, he didn't want to spend more time at home. Harry barely stuck around either. Now that she had a stable job and boyfriend, there wasn't very much time for him anymore.

With all the grace that a 16-year-old could muster, John flung his clothes into the drawers, flung his school supplies into the closet and changed into a t-shirt and athletic shorts. His things barely made a dent in the small room.

Pocketing his key, John left the room to join Tom. School meant rugby season would soon begin and he couldn't wait. Rugby was his one true passion. Not only that, but it kept him focused and not on his parents or on Harry.

He also hoped his new roommate wouldn't be trouble. Just as long as his future roommate, this Sherlock Holmes kid, didn't touch his things, he was hopeful that they'd get along.

* * *

><p>The first chapter is short, but I have a lot more planned. :)<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

Author's note: And so the plot thickens….Comments appreciated. :) -Rowena

* * *

><p>Chapter 2<p>

The sun was setting by the time John returned from the pitch, his uniform, a shirt plastered with bright gold and maroon and shorts a solid maroon, was now covered in mud, as well as cuts on his knees from practice. He was hurting today, probably because he hadn't worked himself that long in a while.

He limped towards the door and was trying to fish his keys out of his pocket when the other door swung open. Standing behind the door was his roommate, a boy already dressed in his red St. Bart's blazer, black pants, white pressed shirt and striped tie. He was tall, thin and had unruly dark curly hair. His figure and form were almost feminine, and if John wouldn't have looked at his face first, he might have been mistaken.

"Uh, hi."

"Hello. You must be John."

The other man spoke with an elegance that made him question how old his roommate actually was.

"Yeah, I am. John Watson."

"I'm Sherlock," his roommate said simply, nodded once and then walked back into the room.

_Who wears their school uniform when not in class?_ John asked himself. He was definitely an odd one. Of course he would be the one to stuck with him.

The once empty room was now filled with things, thanks to his new roommate. His things, which appeared to be random pieces of clothing, notebooks, chemistry kits, and papers, were encroaching unto his side of the room. He hadn't been planning on looking through his roommate's things, but he spotted a skull on the corner of his bed.

"A skull?"

"Hmm? Oh, yes. Just an old friend."

"Friend?"

"Well, I say friend," Sherlock said and slightly laughed. He sat down at his desk and after a couple minutes, casually pushed books off the table and unto the floor, as if he did it all the time. With the desk cleared, he pulled out a laptop and started to type.

John stood awkwardly for a couple seconds. Sherlock was already in his own little world and seemed to not be paying him any attention. He shrugged it off and went into the shower. This was going to be a long semester.

* * *

><p>They never ran into each other, even though the school was relatively small, and they spent little time together in the room. This was partially due to the fact that the two had two completely different academic classes. John's classes had an emphasis in medicine, as he was looking into becoming a doctor. And when he wasn't in class, he was often on the rugby field.<p>

Several days after settling in, he found his roommate's schedule, on a computer print out, and looked it over briefly. His classes seemed more like college level classes with emphasis in chemistry, biology and foreign language. Apparently, he was taking French, Italian and Latin classes.

It was an intense and heavily-burdened workload that he was certain would have

"Holy hell," John had said out loud. "What kind of a bloody genius is this guy?"

Just then, he heard the door to the dorm wiggle once and then open, letting in his roommate. John looked over casually to see that it was his roommate and did a double take. Sherlock had a large black eye on his left eye. John knew bruises all too well and this one didn't look so amazing.

"Looks painful," John said gruffly as he poured over his one school book.

Sherlock nodded, but didn't make eye contact. John was a little put off; he was trying to make an attempt to be nice with this guy he was having trouble living with.

Fine, he wouldn't try and be nice. He could be mean if he really wanted to. It wasn't like he didn't have practice ignoring people he didn't feel like dealing with. He did it all the time.

John had just started working on his mathematics homework, when he heard violin. Thinking that maybe he was too tired and had been working too hard, he ignored it at first, but he soon realized, as it got louder, that it was really happening. Sherlock was shouldering the instrument and was pacing the room playing some traditional-sounding tune.

"Hey, can you keep it down?"

Sherlock either didn't hear him or he didn't care because he kept playing.

"Hey!"

No registration.

John had a massive headache and was absolutely exhausted. This, along with the fact that Sherlock was a stuck-up prat, was really starting to piss him off. Instead of yelling, which would accomplish nothing because Sherlock was apparently hard of hearing, he took his notebook, textbook and his jacket and left the dorm, slamming the door shut. Unbeknownst to him, Sherlock jumped, startled, on the other side,

John sent a quick text to Tom, asking if he could come over and crash.

It wasn't a problem. Then again, he knew it wouldn't be. Not as much of a problem as Sherlock was turning out to be.

* * *

><p>Back at 221B, Sherlock wasn't blind to John's frustration; he just didn't know what he should or even could do about it. They were so differently and the boy had apparently made up his mind already about him. And he couldn't say that he didn't find John daft at times. Any boy who would willingly rush into a rugby scrim definitely took a special kind of meathead.<p>

But it would be too easy to group him in the "jock" group. He knew there was something different about him and he was determined to find out what it was. Granted, that meant he would have to speak to him.

He sighed. Every time he opened his mouth, someone would call him a "freak," "weirdo" or something else like that. Would John be the same?

Still, with his roommate apparently gone for the evening, he kept playing his violin, lovingly named Tesla. There was no one to complain now and he would make the best of it.

* * *

><p>John knew something wasn't right the moment his guidance counselor called him out of class. He nearly sprinted down the hallway, fearing something had happened to his mother or even to Harry. He had to know what was wrong as soon as possible.<p>

It became apparent, however, that the particular item in question, however, had less to do with family and more to with academics.

"Mr. Watson," the aging Mrs. Retret began.

John neglected to tell her to call him John, like he did everyone else. Nor did he tell people that it reminded him too much of his father. For her, he just grinned and bore it.

"It has been brought to my attention that you are currently failing your chemistry class."

It was true. Over the last several weeks he had been neglecting school work in general for the rugby team. It was all in preparation for a big rugby match in two weeks when they'd play their rival team from Edinburg. The team had to be in top shape to stand a chance.

Apparently he was supposed to respond to the guidance counselor, as she stared him down. He nodded.

"Now, I've spoken with your teacher, Mr. Roberts and he tells me that very often he finds you dozing during his lectures. Your lab partner apparently is having a hard time trying to do both parts of his labs…"

John almost growled. Of course his lab partner would have said something. In his defense, however, his lab partner was one of those rich snobs that flaunted their wealth in everyone's face and he had a difficult time being civil with someone who would knowingly pick on someone less fortunate. It made him sick.

As for the sleeping, well, all he could say was that the lab was at 8 in the morning and rugby practices could easily turn into late nights…

"…result of your grades and under the suggestion of Mr. Roberts, the school is placing you in preliminary academic probation."

Uh-oh.

"This means that, as of now, you are off the rugby team."

"What?"

"This is until your grades improve dramatically."

John was fuming. This was not fair. He wasn't made to be some academic genius, he was just a simple guy who wanted to play some rugby!

"This isn't a punishment," Mrs. Retret continued, but he was tuning her out. Only when he swore he heard the words "private," "every day" and "assigned" started being thrown around, did he try and focus.

"Sorry?"

"I said, you've also been assigned a student who will help to tutor you. You will meet with your tutor every day at 4 p.m. in the chemistry lab."

"What if I'm busy then?"

"Now that you are no longer playing rugby, you will have plenty of time," she responded curtly. He swore he saw a glint of something demonic flicker in her eyes.

"Your sessions will last at least an hour at a time and there is a minimum of 5 hours a week."

"What?"

"We do not tolerate slacking here, Mr. Watson," she said, her voice thick with authority, "and I suggest you learn this sooner rather than later."

John had no other option but to nod.

"Good. Be at your assigned lab by 4pm tomorrow."

"Yes ma'am."

And as he left the office, and the realization passed over him that he could no longer play for the rugby team, he felt as if he was beginning to lose a bit of himself.


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Note: The boys are thrown together, but still not by choice. They are one step closer…Thanks everyone for the comments! I'll keep updating as fast as I can. -Rowena

Chapter 3

"What do you mean you can't play?"

The entire team and John were sitting in the dining hall because he figured he had to break the news to them before they found out another way.

"I'm failing chemistry."

A large collective groan came from the team.

"I've been there," one of the boys said.

"They get most of us with their stupid grade rules," another boy added in.

A large portion of the rugby squad and a couple boys were complaining that athletes should not be expected to score high marks.

But John didn't think he was stupid or couldn't get high grades. He let the boys talk and at 3:58, excused himself for the lab.

"If that nerd gives you any problems, you let us know," a teammate, called Marks, said.

John just nodded.

He should have known that it would be Sherlock.

The tall boy was bent over a Bunsen burner and was wearing large goggles.

His mouth was drawn up slightly, as if he were thinking hard. It didn't take long for him to notice John in the doorway.

Sherlock sighed. John glared.

"Hello."

"You're my tutor?"

"Apparently."

Great. More attitude.

"Don't seem so thrilled," John replied, dropping his things in a corner and walking over.

"Well, I suppose we should start with you learning the chemical symbols," Sherlock said.

"Uh, okay." He had hoped they'd start with the lab materials and he'd get to do chemical compounds.

John sat in one of the desk while Sherlock busied himself in the lab, working on some sort of unknown compound.

"Symbol for Silver."

"Um…Si?"

"Wrong, it's Ag. Symbol for Carbon."

"C?"

"Correct. Symbol for Hydrogen."

"Um, H?"

"Correct. Symbol for Neon."

"Uh, I have no idea," John answered. "Are you reading this out of a textbook?"

"The symbol is Ne. No, I don't need one."

"You have this memorized?"

"It's not too difficult," Sherlock said, with a shrug.

"Symbol for Boron."

This boy really did know it all. As John tried to remember and answer Sherlock, the genius was still working and moving around in the lab. Obviously not the most eager and personable person and teacher.

"B?"

"Correct."

The two continued for their hour, repeating the symbol back at each other and then they moved on to basic formulas. With no rugby, John was going to back to the dorm to work. Sherlock, for once, joined him as well on the way back.

It was only after they were back in the room and had settled in until they finally talked.

"How do you do that?"

Sherlock looked up from a stack of books.

"Sorry?"

"How are you able to repeat those symbols and formulas?" John asked.

"I don't know," Sherlock answered. "I have been told I have a photographic memory. I can just remember things very well."

There was a pause.

"Wow," John finally said before turning back to work. Behind him, Sherlock, for the first time in a long time, smiled.

Over the next couple days, John was meeting with Sherlock for at least an hour a day. In the beginning, it was tense and John definitely found himself watching the time click by on the clock. Sherlock's teaching was basically him asking a question and expecting an answer right away. It was difficult for Sherlock to try and explain things and often, he was yelling "Read the book, John!" more often than actual explaining what a soluble material was.

Eventually, the conversations got more friendly and comfortable. There was still some relative distance, as they had different ideas and often argued especially when John would question why anyone would mix things with hydrochloric acid and Sherlock would try and tell him to just accept the information because if he tried to explain it, it would just be too difficult to understand.

"No John. Hydrochloric acid cannot be mixed with that. Do you want to blow up the lab?"

"Drop that beaker!"

"John, must you do that?"

"Forget it. You obviously cannot fathom the information."

And John would have some sort of thing to add, of course.

"Sherlock, will you stop looking at me like you are just waiting for me to mess up?"

"Sherlock, please stop it. That isn't helping."

"Sherlock…"

At the end of the second week, the tutoring sessions were becoming pretty normal and it was safe to say that they didn't detest each other as much.

Sherlock noticed though, at the beginning of the session that day that John was acting odd. Not knowing how to bring it up subtly or even how he should approach it, he just blurted it out.

"Are you okay?"

John looked up at Sherlock to see the faint traces of worry across his face. It made the man look so much older than he was, aged and downright sad. Maybe that was one of the reasons he opened up so quickly to the fellow student.

"The rugby team is playing tomorrow," he said, trying not to let himself get too upset. "The guys have been talking about it non-stop and it's just reminding me how much I miss it."

Sherlock looked downright lost at what to say.

"It's going to be okay."

It was barely anything, but it was something and something was more than John expected or was looking for from him. In summary, it was perfect.

"Thanks."

"No problem," Sherlock answered and stood up. "I think we're done for the day."

"What?" John asked, looking at his watch. "I didn't think we made it to an hour."

"It's close enough," his tutor answered with a faint trace of a smile. "I think you've learned all you can for one day."


	4. Chapter 4

Author's note: Things are a changing….it's also getting remarkably angsty… -Rowena

* * *

><p>Chapter 4<p>

The big rugby match had been extended to include the entire weekend, much to John's displeasure. It was the day of the first big rugby match, and John, for once, was nowhere near the field. It was too much for him to try and be near the guys and the game. He had no idea what he would do that Friday. He never had days to himself because of the sport and now, well, he was rather lost.

For once in his life, he was also done with most of his schoolwork. Sherlock had taken to helping him with getting it done, on the off occasion that both of them were in the room. Strangely enough, the two were seemingly spending more time in the room and it was easier than ever to work together.

At the current moment, John was sitting at his desk, surfing the web and looking at national rugby scores. Just because he couldn't play, didn't mean he didn't care.

Sherlock came through the door, wearing an expression that John could only describe as "goofy."

"John, I have some exciting news!"

"If it's about a formula or some multi-syllable compound that you discovered, please know that my interest is completely centered towards what Mr. ?wants me to learn," John answered, leaning back in his chair. "No offense to you."

"No no, it has nothing to do with that," Sherlock answered dismissively. He started pacing a little across the floor.

"Oh, okay, then what's it about?"

John was betting his money on Sherlock asking him if it was okay to name the new chemical that Sherlock had created after him. Well, he wouldn't mind if there was a Watsonic acid. It would make Harry shut up about being the scientific one in….

"I…well, I got the word that a new exhibit has opened up several blocks from my home…"

_Ah, well that's a sur-_

"…and, well, Iwas wondering if you'd like to join me for a weekend trip to London."

"What?"

Sherlock blinked.

"Um, well, I asked if you'd like to…"

"No, I get what the request is, but, why?"

"Why?"

"Why are you inviting me?"

Sherlock thought for a moment. He looked overcome with something for a moment or two before the stone-faced genius was replaced.

"Do you want the truth or do you want to hear what you need to hear?"

John was silent for a moment.

"What do you think I need to hear?" John finally asked, and at once regretted his choice. Of course he wanted the truth, why would he want anything else?

"Because you'd love to visit and stay in London," Sherlock answered back matter-of-factly, "and besides, I bet you've always wanted to stay in a mansion."

* * *

><p>Sherlock was not kidding. The Holmes estate was by far the biggest building that John had ever seen. He caught himself staring at the building, slack-jawed, several times while in the taxi before catching himself. Sherlock had just smirked.<p>

"It…wow…just wow…"

"Ah yes, the humble abode."

John turned and almost glared.

"Says the snob," John said, but quickly looked sorry. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"

"It's okay. I have an expertly trained team of counselors to deal with peasants such as yourselves," Sherlock waved him off in an uppity tone.

The two burst out laughing.

The estate was on five acres of open, green land. There were rolling hills and a small horse farm, where the Holmes family has raised racing thoroughbreds for thirty years. Inside, there were three floors with many bedrooms and other rooms that looked barely touched, but routinely polished.

John noticed Sherlock talked very little as he gave him the tour. To John though, there were two big things missing.

"Where are your parents?"

"My father died five years ago."

"Oh…I'm sorry…"

"It's quite alright, we were never that close," Sherlock answered.

"Your mother?" He was almost afraid to ask.

"Mother is usually out of town," the boy replied, "on business on things like that. My brother Mycroft is often here, but he informed me on the way to work."

"What does he do?"

"Government work."

And he left it at that. John suspected that this was one of the reasons that the house, and he assumed the Holmes bank account, was so large.

"So, anyway. I'll let you unpack. I have to call someone."

And Sherlock left John.

"Uh, which room?" John called out.

"Pick one!"

John didn't know the common courtesy about picking a room so he just chose the closet room to the stairs. He set his small duffle bag on the double bed and sat down. He had never really been invited over for a weekend where there were no parents. What would be expected of him? A not so uncomfortable thought popped into his mind regarding Sherlock and himself and having the mansion to themselves…

His stomach lurched. Where did that thought come from?

"John!"

He actually dropped his phone, which he had unconsciously been fiddling with.

"Y-yes?"

"Our car is here."

"You haven't even told me where we're going!" John yelled back.

There was a pause.

"I promise you'll love it, John."

John groaned out loud.

"I'll take that as a yes!" Sherlock called. "Hurry up already!"

The museum was barely 10 minutes away and as soon as John saw the name of the museum, he knew it would be quite an interesting trip.

"The Wellcome Collection?" John asked, reading off the large building. It seemed to be a large collection of medical artifacts and science things.

"It has a new exhibit on serial killers," Sherlock said, he was practically beaming.

"Wow, I didn't know this type of place existed," John said, walking out of the car with Sherlock.

"The exhibit only officially opened a month or so ago." Sherlock continued to talk about certain exhibits that it was supposed to have, as well as local British people of importance (most John had no idea who they were) who had been there.

Once inside, Sherlock moved from exhibit to exhibit rapidly but he commented on every single one. John had a somewhat difficult time trying to keep up but he was finding himself enjoying the displays and information about detective work in murder cases. He had to admit as well, that watching a happy and content Sherlock was quite amusing.

"John, look at this!" Sherlock exclaimed, pointing at an exhibit under glass, "It's the third Ripper letter!"

"Like from Jack the Ripper?" John asked, walking over.

"And look, a diagram of how he dissected his victims!"

"That's disgusting."

"Isn't it amazing?"

"Amazing is not the first word to come to my mind," John answered. "How about graphic and disgusting?"

Sherlock turned to look at him and raised his eyebrow.

"Some medical doctor you'll turn out to be."

"Hey!"

John shoved Sherlock playfully. The other boy wasn't expecting it and just caught himself before he would have fallen into a skeleton statue. Several people who were walking by stopped and looked at them angrily.

Sherlock and John started giggling.

"Maybe we should keep walking," John managed.

* * *

><p>The boys were beat by the time they got back to the house. There were multiple containers of meals in the fridge so the boys dug in. John had just finished his second portion when he realized Sherlock had barely touched his first.<p>

"Um, you ok?"

"I don't eat much," Sherlock said. Admittedly, John had never seen the boy eat at all. "But please, help yourself to everything. Mother would be so pleased if she didn't have to throw more food away because it spoiled."

John stopped after two. He'd started putting on weight without rugby.

After dinner, there was a little bit of awkward silence between the two.

"So, um, I take it you would like to take a shower," Sherlock said. "and I am curious as to what else you would like to do this evening."

John shrugged.

"I usually just watch some telly."

Sherlock nodded.

It was odd taking a shower in such an expensive and new looking bathroom. It was like one out of the house magazines his mother often read. He swore it had never been used before and he felt like he was soiling it somehow. Afterwards, he wrapped a towel around his waist and walked into the room. Getting dressed, he was in his own world until he heard movements on the floor. Suddenly self-conscious, he hid from view, but watched out a crack of the door.

He waited until he saw Sherlock, wrapped in an identical towel, walking down the hall from his own bathroom and shower, on the phone with someone. John found himself staring a little more than necessary at his roommate but he shook himself out of it and changed to go downstairs. What was with him lately?

The two boys proceeded to watch a bad horror flick "Night of Daycrawlers" in the living room and laughed at it the entire time. Sherlock pointed out the inaccuracy of most of the "scientific" research and John continued making comments about how bad the plot was. After the first movie, came a second and then a third…

John woke first the next morning first. He felt more comfortable then he had been in a while but didn't know exactly where he was at first. It took him several minutes to realize that the two had fallen asleep right next to one another on the floor, John in the back, as if they were spooning. His left hand was on Sherlock's back and Sherlock's left leg rested against John's.

John closed his eyes and for a moment, pretended he hadn't woken up and that he wasn't obligated to do anything but to fall back asleep.

Mercifully, sleep took him again.

* * *

><p>The rest of the week flew by. On Saturday, Sherlock introduced John to the horses and discovered, much to his delight, that John was a natural with animals. Immediately, the head horse of the stable, Tonto, took a liking to John and nuzzled against him.<p>

Sherlock felt a tugging in his chest at this that he couldn't quite explain.

The two took a short ride through the surrounding area and Sherlock asked John several times if he was sure he had never ridden before. Every time, he would answer no, but he wasn't sure that Sherlock believed him.

Between raids on the fridge and the occasional chemistry lesson ("John, you still need to learn this…"), the weekend flew by. Before they knew it, it was Sunday evening and they were in the living room, spread out on the floor and watching telly.

"I'm bored," Sherlock said suddenly. This was nothing new.

"Then find something to do," John replied back.

Sherlock pulled out a cigarette out of a box in his pocket and lit it.

"You smoke?"

Sherlock pulled out some glass bottles with a brownish liquid and two drinking glasses.

"You drink?"

"You seem surprised," Sherlock commented, inhaling a few puffs, "Why?"

"You don't…seem like someone who would do that."

"Well, you don't really know me, do you?"

"That's true," John admitted, "but you don't know me either."

He took another drag of his cigarette.

"It seems so."

"Are you going to share that brandy or not?"

Sherlock grinned and poured him a glass.

Like cigarettes and liquor tend to do, it sparked conversation between them. The brandy was strong and John was feeling the effects after only three glasses. Sherlock had had a couple as well and was on his second cigarette.

"So," John asked, the heat and bubbling in his chest rising, "How does it feel to be the smartest person at St. Bart's?"

"Oh John," Sherlock answered, on the verge of giggling, "You don't believe that."

"Like hell I don't."

Sherlock shrugged.

"I'm aware that most people don't like me. They think I'm a snob," Sherlock said as he took another drink and put out the cigarette. "It doesn't really matter. I'm not here to impress them."

"Why did you really ask me to come here?"

The question had been bugging John and finally, he had said it.

Sherlock took another drink.

"Well, honestly, I didn't want you to be alone," Sherlock answered, "because of your rugby friends doing all that bragging and making you feel so bad. You looked sad, especially when you didn't think anyone else around you could see it."

John was touched and he would have been more inclined to say something nice, but at the moment, his bladder was becoming increasingly needy.

"Bathroom," he grumbled and tried to get up. The drinks were catching up with him and the world around him was wobbling rather dangerously.

"Sit down, you're going to hurt yourself." Even drunk, Sherlock still had the common sense to think. John wondered if he ever stopped.

"I'm fine-" John started to say as he slipped on part of the rug and Sherlock caught him from falling face-first on the floor. John caught part of himself and half-landed on the other boy with a loud grunt.

"Ow."

The two were now basically on top of one another. John and Sherlock were eye to eye, John's eyes were a little cloudy, as were Sherlock's and their breathing was heavy.

"I fell."

"I see that."

They giggled.

There was a long silence as the air hung thick around then with cigarette smoke, brandy and something else. Sherlock swallowed and opened his mouth to speak, when suddenly John leaned forward and kissed him, silencing all words and thoughts between them.

Sherlock was warm and it was so nice, almost too nice, but he pulled back, breathless and nervous as hell.

"I…I'm sorry," John said, his voice barely a whisper.

"Why?" Sherlock replied and lightly grabbed John's face. "I'm not."

And Sherlock kissed him back.

They kissed hungrily, making up for lost time, grasping at each other like they might lose the other. Moaning came from John's mouth as his lips sparked against Sherlock's.

Sherlock's hands rubbed the back of his neck and went down his back and lover.

John jumped slightly and the two broke apart, breathless.

"What's the matter?" Sherlock asked, he looked much older with lines of worry across his face.

"Uh, I have to go to the bathroom," John answered weakly, and stumbled to the bathroom. He left Sherlock on the floor, flushed and aroused but very worried.

John almost hit the bathroom door before he made it in. he didn't have ot use the bathroom anymore, he had to get away. He wasn't one of those "fairies" that he and his rugby mates made fun of. He wasn't one of those "light-in-the-loafers" gents who wore pink with short shorts.

The alcohol and stress was definitely getting to him, but he didn't want to go out and face Sherlock to him, but he didn't want to go out and face Sherlock.

"John," came Sherlock from outside, "are you okay?"

He didn't answer.

"Please come out of there. You're going to hurt yourself."

"I'm fine," John answered.

"You're going to fall asleep in there," Sherlock called back, "please."

John shakily got up and opened the door. Sherlock was sitting on the couch, smoking a cigarette. John wobbly walked out and sat on the floor where he had been seconds before.

"I'm sorry," Sherlock said finally. "I didn't mean to…"

"No," John answered suddenly. "I am."

Sherlock was silent. He looked hurt.

"Look John…"

"We're drunk," John said, although the alcohol's effects weren't affecting him anymore, "and I'm not gay."

"Me neither," Sherlock answered with a shrug.

"Fine."

John rolled over to go to bed. He could feel Sherlock's eyes on him for a while before a light turned off. As Sherlock fell asleep, he tried not to notice the soft crying coming from the young man on the floor.


	5. Chapter 5

Author's Note: Thank you everyone for the lovely comments and feedback. I appreciate it all! I will try and keep the updates coming, as the story is getting good, but finals are coming up so, we'll see. Thanks! -Rowena

* * *

><p>Chapter 5<p>

It didn't take a genius to figure out that something was wrong with John. Sherlock didn't talk about the night before and instead, gave the man his space the following day. They hadn't planned much anyway, but he was glad they didn't.

The ride back to school was torture. The silence between them was absolutely deafening. When John accidentally touched Sherlock during a turn, he flinched before he turned away. Sherlock knew probable reasons for John's discomfort and his mind rattled statistics as well as information that were supposed to make him feel better, but it wasn't working.

Through John's head, the only thing that was on his mind was focusing on not focusing on the night before. A million things were going through his head as well, but they were much less comforting than Sherlock's statistics. When they finally got there, John got out first, mumbled something about staying with Reed and then left Sherlock alone.

Sherlock had never spent a lonely night in his life. That night, he finally did.

* * *

><p>"You look like shit, mate."<p>

John had circles under his eyes and was constantly on edge. It had been two days since he had been in his room and saw Sherlock.

"Didn't sleep well."

"Looks like it," Reed said, grunting as he put on his gear. "How's that chemistry class going?"

Thanks to Sherlock's help, his grades had steadily gotten better. However, he hadn't met with him for two days and Sherlock hadn't tried to contact him.

John shrugged.

"Get some sleep, mate," Reed said and left the room.

John sat back in Reed's bed, but his eyes wouldn't close. Instead, he texted Harry for the first time in a long time.

Sherlock was bored. He had thrown himself into his work and finished essays and homework for the next month and was currently lying on his bed, smoking a cigarette. He had his window open and was running the bathroom fan to keep the smoke alarm from going off.

He was double counting the number of ceiling tiles when he got a text message.

**Are you in the room? –J**

Sherlock's heart jumped and he responded.

**I am. Are you ok? –S**

There was a ding several minutes later.

**I'm sorry. –J**

**About what? –S**

**You know what. –J**

**I just wanted to know where you stood. –S**

The next response that took longer.

**I don't know. –J**

**Well, I can't tell you how to feel. –S**

Another pause.

**I know. –J**

**Well, I don't know, actually. –J**

**Sherlock, I don't know what I'm doing. –J**

Then the last one…

**I wish you could tell me how to feel. -J**

**Come home. –S**

* * *

><p>John walked in their dorm exactly 16 minutes and 5 seconds after the last text message. Sherlock was sitting cross-legged on his bed. John pocketed his phone.<p>

"I, uh, talked to my sister for the first time in a while."

"What did you talk about," Sherlock quipped, as if he didn't already know.

"You."

"Me?"

"Yes, you," he answered back, softly.

"What did she say?"

"That I shouldn't let anyone else determine how I should feel," John answered. He was walking towards the other man as he spoke.

"And how do you feel?" Sherlock asked, standing up.

"I don't know," John answered, but he stepped forward more. "I, don't know what I should do."

"What do you want to do?" For once in his life, Sherlock was talking about emotion as opposed to reason. Somewhere in that head of his, an alarm was going off.

John looked so flustered and confused that Sherlock couldn't help but come closer. To his surprise, John met him until they were only a few feet apart.

After a painful few seconds, John couldn't take it any longer and he pulled the other man's face to his and captured the other man's lips with his own.

Somewhere in the mashing of lips and grasps of hands, tongues became involved and soon John was practically moaning. Sherlock was panting heavily when the two finally broke, their heads resting against the other's forehead, mere inches apart.

"Uh, wow."

"Wow is right."

"I'm not gay," John said, but it seemed resigned.

"I'm not either," Sherlock responded, his hand rubbing John's back through his shirt, "but I believe it's possible to be attracted to a person, regardless of gender."

John smiled, tracing Sherlock's cheekbones.

"Are you saying you are attracted to me, Mr. Holmes?"

"I believe, Mr. Watson, that my flushed skin, accelerated heart rate, dilated pupils and, uh, other body responses can answer that."

John couldn't help but look. Indeed, Sherlock's pants were a little too tight in a certain area.

"I'm feeling rather fond of you as well," John said. "But…what exactly, are we?"

Sherlock didn't know what to say. He'd never felt such a strong connection with another person before. John was squinting slightly, something he did when he was confused. Sherlock found it absolutely adorable.

"I don't know," Sherlock said, one of the only times in his life he'd admit it, "A couple?"

"I suppose," John answered. "But an odd couple at that."

"Agreed."

John gave Sherlock a look that spoke of adoration. Sherlock resisted the urge to kiss him right there and then.

"But um, can we…keep it…slow?"

It almost broke Sherlock's heart to see him so fragile.

"Of course," he said and reached out for the other man's hand. John took it and wrapped it around his own.

The two spent the night together, spooning the way that had several nights before when John was so sure that Sherlock had been asleep.

* * *

><p>The morning came too soon and Sherlock stirred first. He was slow to wake, as he usually was, but became even more so when he realized that the other boy had nestled himself into him. John was biting his lip in his sleep and let out several sighs as he was dreaming.<p>

He wondered if John felt safe, wrapped up as he was in sleep and against him. Sherlock may be good at many things, but when it came to human interactions and feelings, this was all brand new territory. Despite the many books he had done on the subject, absolutely none of it had prepared him for this.

Just as he was ready to wake up the sleeping form beneath him, John moved slightly and blinking several times, he opened his eyes and stared up at Sherlock.

In this moment, as the boy beneath him looked up with those bright blue eyes, he realized that, despite his best attempts at trying to ignore emotion, that he really cared for this boy and we would do anything to keep him from harm.

"Sherlock."

"Yes?"

"We have class today, don't we?"

"Yes, John."

John grumbled slightly but didn't move. He yawned slightly.

"What time is it?"

"8:42."

John sighed.

"I hate classes."

Sherlock looked down at John to see somewhat of a pout across his face.

"Are you…pouting?"

"What? No, why would I-"

"John Watson," Sherlock said, sitting up and causing John to sit up forcefully. "If you don't go to class I will personally deliver you myself."

"What are you going to do, carry me up four flights of steps?"

"Don't tempt me."

"You wouldn't…"

And Sherlock and John started laughing and wrestling on Sherlock's bed. It was obvious that John had a physical advantage but Sherlock was pretty nimble and soon, Sherlock had John pinned and had his long legs wrapped around him.

"How on earth did you get me here?" John huffed out, panting.

"I guess I'm pretty nimble," Sherlock answered and then pushed him with a laugh. "Now get to class."


	6. Chapter 6

Author's note: Buckle up, readers. Thanks for the continued comments and for following my story. Comments and feedback is always appreciated.

* * *

><p>Chapter 6<p>

The moment he had taken that chance and accepted Sherlock, John felt as if something had been put rightly into place. It was as if he had been waiting to meet him.

Sherlock didn't have any classes with him and strangely enough, without being by the other boy, the day dragged out in a way that John couldn't have imagined it would. He did notice, however, that his chemistry grade had taken 180 degree turn. His teacher had said nothing to him, but he seemed relatively pleased. John wondered if that would change if he knew exactly what the boys considered "studying chemistry."

Over the next several days, John's life was simply the same and classes and going home to Sherlock. The two spent the late afternoons curled up together on Sherlock's bed, kissing and holding one another.

John was still hesitant to go further and he worried if Sherlock would grow bored of a partner that wouldn't sleep with him, but Sherlock said that he didn't mind.

"It's okay, John," Sherlock said softly as John held him, "I'm not going to rush you."

John nodded but was silent. He didn't say any of the million things buzzing around in his head. He wondered how Sherlock dealt with it.

"Did you do your homework?"

"Yes mother," John retorted. Sherlock made a face at him.

"John, you know I'm not mothering you."

"Yeah, yeah…"

Sherlock grinned and leaned down, kissing John on the lips. John moved into the kiss and ran his hand through Sherlock's dark curls. Sherlock's hand moved against John's back, comforting the other man while getting John hotter.

There was a knock at the door.

John nearly flew out of Sherlock's bed and jumped unto his own. His cheeks were royally flushed. Sherlock strode across the room and opened it.

"Yes?"

"Hey, is John here?" It was Reed.

"Hey mate."

"Where were you this weekend?" Reed asked, walking past Sherlock and over to John. "We kicked some major ass and went out the pub afterward and picked up some girls."

"I wasn't feeling so well," John said, shrugging. He had to keep himself from looking over at Sherlock, who was curled up with a physics book.

"Aw mate it was amazing," Reed continued, "after we won the last match, we went to the pub and we all got smashed and met up with some local girls. A lot of the boys went missing for a while, if you know what I'm saying."

John laughed and nodded, but it felt very fake.

Reed continued to talk about the weekend and John listened as he described the highs and lows, but his friend didn't notice that he was getting a little upset that he couldn't be there with his rugby buddies. Granted, his tale of the debaucheries night, he didn't regret missing that.

He looked at Sherlock from the corner of his eye sitting cross-legged and with a small ballpoint pen behind his ear. He was reading, with his face scrunched up at determined. He was biting his lip slightly, which made John smile.

"John."

He snapped back to Reed.

"Where were you, man?"

"Sorry, haven't been feeling so well," he lied.

"Well, don't get me sick," Reed said, backing away, "some of us have a game versus Somerset this Saturday. Later."

John nodded and Reed shut the door behind him.

He couldn't look over at Sherlock so he rolled over and he fell asleep almost immediately. Sherlock turned off the lights and followed suit, if only to make it easier for the other man to sleep.

Sherlock woke the next morning to find a note on his pillow.

_Hey, so, I've been told I'm back on the rugby team. Thanks for all that extra tutoring. Won't be home until late. –J_

It was more personal than a text, Sherlock resolved but something was still bugging him. What was he afraid of? That he'd tell John he couldn't play? Granted, he had loved the lounging around that they had done, but he knew John's heart and soul was into playing the sport.

Sherlock pulled on his uniform and straightened his tie. It was going to be a long week.

* * *

><p>"Oi, come on Watson, pick up your game!"<p>

His teammate Oliver was pushing him to keep up with the other boys. It didn't matter to him, John supposed, that he had been unable to even set his foot on a field for several weeks. Nevertheless, he was pretty rusty.

He kept himself open as he ran down the field to catch the ball. Oliver passed it to him and he pumped his legs rapidly to carry himself down the field. When he scored, he had to try very hard to not collapse from exhaustion. He braced himself before Oliver came running up to him and he yelled with him as they bumped chests.

"Not too shabby!"

"Haha thanks."

"Let's hit the shower boys," Reed called out. The boys, apparently getting a second wind, ran to get their bags and to hurry up to the showers. No one wanted them after the other boys went in. Therefore, the locker room was soon filled with the chatter of the boys. Reed was especially talkative as they were toweling off.

"You were a little slow today," Reed commented.

"Not being on the field for a couple weeks will you do that to you, I suppose."

Reed grunted and he started getting dressed.

"Well, I'm glad you're back," Reed continued. "I guess that tutor helped some, eh?"

John nodded.

"I heard you got your roommate," he continued. "Tough luck."

John shrugged, but he didn't make eye contact.

"He helped me study for some of those chemi-"

"What's that fairies name?" Reed asked, pulling on his pants.

John swallowed hard.

"Sherlock."

"Yeah, that's it," Reed answered, "What was it like getting taught by the poofer? He try to teach you some new biology terms?"

"Chemistry, not biology," John answered, pulling on his uniform. He was glad he was faced the other way because he was getting red.

Oliver was now walking over to listen.

"Is our own Watson learning how to make Chemistry with St. Bart's most infamous poofer?"

"Sod off," John replied. "I didn't even know he was one."

"Oh yeah," Oliver interjected, "the guy is practically floating around campus."

John was a little confused, considering Sherlock was practically asexual. It was probably just because he was so different. And well, so was he.

"Has he been…like, seen with another guy?" John asked, trying not to sound too interested.

"Why do you care?" Reed asked, butting in.

"He's my roommate," John responded, his voice involuntarily gruff.

"Yeah, tough luck. Bye boys."

Oliver just shrugged at him, but not unkindly.

It was at that moment he was glad he hadn't told anyone about the changes in his life.

* * *

><p>Sherlock was worried about John. Well, he was aware of things. Not only for the obvious, his inability to show a lot of affection towards him and "consummating" their relationship, but because of the changes in him since he had started playing rugby again.<p>

It was obvious that the new surges of testosterone had him acting more aggressive and assertive. It turned Sherlock on a bit, especially when he would return from practice in his tight rugby outfit and covered in mud.

Still, the rational part of him was aware of personality changes that he was uncertain of.

He had just finished a research paper when the door opened. Sherlock swallowed hard at the sight of John, sweating profusely in his tight outfit.

"Hey."

John nodded at him on the way in.

Sherlock turned back to his work. It was only after a shower, when John was sitting on his bed, did Sherlock look back over.

He was sitting shirtless, with a notebook on his lap that he was scribbling into. He seemed to be frustrated with it, but he kept writing. Sherlock was ready for him to ask for help, like he had so many times before, but John didn't and struggled along.

So, Sherlock let the man alone. He knew too well the need to be alone.

Two weeks later, however, and with no real connection from his roommate, Sherlock thought that perhaps there was a problem.

He caught John one evening after practice in the room.

"How is your chemistry class?"

John shrugged.

"Fine, I guess."

"You guess?"

John stared at Sherlock with a horrified look.

"What is this about? Are you saying that someone told you to help me again?"

"No."

"Then what?"

"Do I really need to say anything?"

For the first time in weeks, Sherlock saw a bit of the old John coming through.

"Yeah…that…"

"Yes."

"I don't…I really…"

Sherlock cut him off.

"No, I understand completely." Sherlock picked up his violin and made to leave. John blocked him.

"Wait, Sherlock, I-"

"John, let me go."

"Why?"

"I have to practice, Sherlock answered, his cheeks now flushed with rising anger.

"Don't play stupid w-"

"Me? I'm the one playing stupid? Listen here John Watson, I'm not the one pretending to be whom I'm not. I know who I am," Sherlock said, his voice getting slightly louder. "I don't string someone along for weeks and then when it comes time to show it, back out. Sorry John, but I don't work like that."

"Please, wait, the guys, they said i-"

"Save it. I'm not a second choice," Sherlock responded as he walked out. "Sort out what you really want, John because if you don't, you might lose everything." The door shut behind him and he left the building and turned the corner.

Sherlock nearly ran into another boy with slicked back black hair, one that he never thought he would see again. His beloved violin slipped from his hands and the other boy barely caught it before it hit the floor.

"What are you doing here?"

"It's good to see you again too, Sherlock," the boy said toyingly with a smile. He was dressed also in a St. Bart's uniform but it was almost obscenely clean and pressed.

Sherlock took his violin, which the boy was holding out to him.

"It's just odd seeing you here."

"My parents moved," the other boy said with a smile, "but I never expected to see you here. It's a quaint little place, isn't it?"

Sherlock nodded, but he just wanted to get away.

"I'd like to stay and chat, but I need to get going."

"Oh, I'm certain we'll run into each other again. Ta-ta."

And he turned to walk down the hall, carrying a rather large suitcase.

The name on the boy's suitcase read James Moriarty.


	7. Chapter 7

Author's note: This is the end, folks. I know it's a little short, but I really feel like it ends here. Thank you everyone for your lovely comments and support. I won't be a stranger if you all won't. :) -Rowena

* * *

><p>Chapter 7<p>

John tried his best to avoid Sherlock for the next couple of weeks. He would purposefully take longer routes to avoid awkwardness. He would return to the room only to sleep. It wasn't that he didn't like him; he was just confused and didn't know what to say.

Still, he did notice his roommate and became increasingly aware of a boy that Sherlock was spending time with. He found out that his name was Moriarty, but he didn't know what else.

"Moriarty?" Oliver had answered. "Yeah, that's a guy you don't want to mess around with. He's got his hands in everything."

He continued to observe from a distance as well, but he couldn't fight a rising ping of jealousy when he saw the two together.

John thought he would be able to ignore it but that was until he saw Moriarty kiss Sherlock in one of the halls after class. John had spun on his heel and ran, feeling, for the first time in a long time, the feeling of tears from flowing from his eyes.

* * *

><p>Moriarty had caught Sherlock off guard with the kiss. Yes, he enjoyed spending time with him, but if anything; their past relationship was enough to prove they were not good romantic partners. And, well, he still held a candle for John.<p>

Sherlock pulled from the kiss almost immediately.

"James…"

"What is it?"

"We can't do this."

"Why as hell not?"

"We've tried this before," Sherlock answered, "and it didn't work. You know that."

Moriarty nodded, but had a glint of something in his eye.

"It's someone else, isn't it?"

"What?"

"I can tell. You stare off into space and smile," Moriarty said, straightening his tie, "I don't think I've ever seen you do that before."

"I don't…know what it is."

"Must be something then."

"He…I gave him some time to think…to decide what he wants because he hasn't found himself yet." Sherlock said.

"That sounds really new-age of you, Sherlock."

Sherlock shot him a look.

"James, please."

"All I know is that if your mind can be distant while kissing _**this**_," Moriarty said, emphasizing his body, "Then he has to be the best kisser in the world."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, but he smiled.

"Let me know how it goes," Moriarty said with a wink.

"And if he says no, tell your mystery man to come my way."

"_Goodbye_ James."

* * *

><p>The rainstorm had hit suddenly and forcefully, canceling anything outside and threatened to kill power at St. Bart's. Naturally, the boys were riled up from being cooped up so, the headmaster and staff announced that all boys were to go into the main ballroom to play sports and socialize with others. It was a half-hearted attempt to keep the boys from getting into serious mischief.<p>

Sherlock, who was currently studying the growth of mold on the school's bread, ignored the message and continued his work.

There was a knock on the door and Sherlock opened the door, only to have John run through, slamming the door behind him and kissing Sherlock smack on the lips. His weight pushed the two unto Sherlock's bed. The two could barely keep their mouths and hands off one another and like two horny teenagers, the seconds turned to minutes.

Sherlock knew he should stop and be angry at John, but looking into the boy's eyes

Breathless, the two finally broke apart, but they leaned together

"Um, hi," was all Sherlock could manage.

"I missed you," John said, keeping his eye contact.

"I missed you."

"I'm so sorry," John continued, "and I know I can't tell you how much, but I am."

Sherlock smiled and nodded. He ran his left hand through John's hair, just like the first time they had been together.

"Of course I forgive you," Sherlock said, "and damn was it boring without you."

"What about that guy? The one I saw you kissing."

"James? He surprised me with that, I swear. We had something in the past, but I told him I'm not really interested," Sherlock said, kissing John's forehead. "Besides, he could tell there was someone else I was thinking of."

"Oh really?"

John kissed Sherlock again, rubbing against the man beneath him. The friction of clothing and body upon body was driving John crazy. Sherlock reversed them, so that he was on top of John. He pinned the man's hands against the bed board.

"Gotcha."

John leaned forward and kissed the boy on top of him.

"You do."

Sherlock smiled and began to crawl off, but John stopped him. His eyes were almost black with lust and he was breathing heavily. Sherlock swallowed hard.

"Come here Sherlock…"

And the two pulled themselves together and became a mass of tangled limbs, mouths, tongues, and gentle touches of flesh upon flesh. Sweat poured off the heated bodies as they moved together and just like puzzle pieces, they fit together perfectly.

Later, the two boys lay together in Sherlock's bed, cradled together. Sleep was trying to take them, but they both tried to keep themselves awake and stare into each other's eyes.

"I love you Sherlock Holmes."

Sherlock had never felt this way about anyone or anything in his life. Yes, he had his problems and John did as well, but together, he really believed that they could handle anything.

"I love you too, John Watson."


End file.
